Whipped Cream
by owlpostagain
Summary: Axel's pushing blackout and the blond across the bar is looking like a hot damn ice cream sunday with a cherry on top. I want it with whipped cream on it, baby.


**So if you've read Two Way Radio or Living Proof, you might recall that February 13 is Roxas' birthday. As a little birthday present to my snarky little muse, I set out to write a silly attempt at smut for B&B to the song "Whipped Cream" by Ludo.**

**17 pages later this story is a. fluffy, b. cheesy, c. drunk, d. not smutty, e. way too long for B&B.**

**Er…at least I got the song part in there? Which, for the record, I strongly recommend you listen to, because it's hysterical.**

**Anyway, I tried really hard to write smut, I really did, but it looks like shameless porn is just not in the cards for this kid. Ah well, love me anyway, and happy birthday Roxas, you precious little thing you.**

**Things I Own**: a stupid amount of Ludo paraphernalia and concert ticket stubs, several empty bottles of Blue Moon, Axel's ass (oh wait no, not that one)

**Things I Don't Own**: Axel, Roxas, Sora, Riku, everyone else, the rights to "Whipped Cream," any actual cans of whipped cream

**PS. I also wrote a solid half of this story drunk so that Axel and I could be in character…heh.**

**Cheers, lovelies**

* * *

><p><strong>Whipped Cream<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>I want it with whipped cream on it,<br>baby gimme gimme gimme your love  
>cause I'm hungry you can't keep it from me<br>Lord knows you got more than enough.  
>Baby I – I'm fiendin', I know you got your reasons<br>for keeping it to yourself,**

**But you got plenty, honey, I don't think it's funny  
>gotta give it give give it or else<br>I might just lose my mind**

* * *

><p>Being an English Major, and a Pretentious Douchebag, gives Axel the distinct advantage of being able to recite a lengthy list of adjectives to describe his current state.<p>

Axel Flynn is:

Intoxicated  
>Inebriated<br>Buzzed  
>Under the influence<br>Plastered  
>Toasted<br>Hammered  
>Sloshed<br>Wrecked  
>Blasted<br>Wasted  
>Smashed<br>Gone  
>Three sheets to the wind<br>Blackout  
>Fucked up<p>

Axel Flynn is fucking Drunk.

Axel Flynn is the drunkest girl at the party, except it's not a party it's a bar, although the bar's kind of like a party because whoaaa is it fucking packed, and he sort of like knew almost everyone there so maybe it actually is a party for him. He would play it cool, though, since it was obviously a surprise party, and he doesn't want to ruin the surprise.

"Reeks." Axel gropes one hand along the bar, reaching out for the stool next to him. It is, appallingly, shockingly, dreadfully (he's so on a roll) empty, that smarmy fucking bastard. Axel doesn't _want_ to get up, he doesn't; he likes his bar stool and his pretty bartenders and the way his pretty beer gleams like it's in a goddamn Blue Moon commercial. Although technically, the beer is portable. Technically they were all portable, even the bartenders, but that is Beside the Point. The _point_ is that his beer is fucking delicious, even though the orange is kind of weird, Reno said it would be good, but it's way too tangy compared to the sweet sweet jagerbombs he and – Riku! _That's _what the point was. Find Riku. Bastard. Where'd he go?

"Riku?" Axel calls, lurching sideways off his barstool. He stumbles forward through the crowd, one hand wrapped securely around his drink, the other extended out like a flesh machete, foraging a path through the jungle of drunk, sweaty assholes.

"Riiikuuu," he whines, shouldering his way through the packed college bar, the post-party, pre-late night scene for anyone with an ID. They're all here for his party, aren't they, so shouldn't they move out of his way? Shouldn't they know Riku?

RIKU.

Riku's standing in the back corner of the long, narrow bar like the emo little bitch he is. Or maybe not, oooh no, Riku's standing in that back corner, but he's definitely not alone! This is news! In fact, there's some mousey little brunet shrimp with his back against the wall, and Riku's all like leaning over him like he's some suave and cool shit with one arm on the wall over the brunet's shoulder. Axel is going to refrain from cheering, even though he just wants to throw his fist up in the air and egg on his best friend, makin' moves like that, but that would be _bad form_.

"Riku!" The redhead elbows the last stupid crowdy person (honestly, it was _his _party) out of the way, clearing a path towards the saucy little minx. The pair against the wall are looking at him with matching smirks as he stumbles through the last few feet of air, tripping over his long legs as they got all tangled together, as legs are wont to do.

"Axel," Riku laughs, raising an eyebrow at him.

Axel's so totally tactful as he peers discretely over Riku's arm (and so totally not drunk, look at those big fucking SAT words) at the tasty target his best friend, his wingman, his bro from anotha ho, was no doubt about to seal the deal with.

"Oh," he heaves a long-suffering sigh, pulling a long drag from his draft. "Oh, it's just Sora."

"On a scale of once ever to three times an hour, how often do you find Riku up against a wall with someone who isn't me?" Sora ducks his stupid spikey head under Riku's bicep, giving Axel that look that the redhead just doesn't like at _all_.

He considers the question anyway, though, ponders it like the thoughtful, intelligent, totally-responsible-even-in-drunkeness person he was. It's hard, though, because he's pretty sure Sora said "scale," but also pretty sure that there were no numbers involved, and he's not entirely certain he remembered the question, but it had something to do with Riku fucking people. Except Riku doesn't fuck people, because Riku has a stupidly stupid crush on the stupidly stupid spiked midget, the won half of the wonder twins, and fuck, what?

"You're very short," Axel nods in response. It sounds like a good answer, definitely was a good answer, if the way Riku snorts into his drink is any…hey…

"That's mine." He snatches the Blue Moon back from the freak with the silver hair, taking a possessively large gulp of the remaining beer. The orange slice, which had looked so very nice and pretty under the soft lights neon lights of the proper bar, is being a hell of a cockblock between his tongue and the last few drops from the bottom of the glass.

"Here, my round," Riku says, fumbling through back pockets (WAS THAT SORA'S HAND ON HIS ASS?) and oh sweet merciful goodness, Silver-Freak is forgiven, because Axel totally ran out of cash like two drinks ago. "That's good, I want one. Sora?"

"What's the worst drink he could possibly have to order?" The demon in a blue shirt, that right little evil bastard, brother of the devil incarnate himself, asks Riku.

"Tequila makes him vom," Riku offers. Axel is a Very Good Boy and does not punch his ex-best friend right in the gut, no no, because Ex-Best-Friend is paying for the booze.

"Tequila Sunrise, please." Sora gives him that smug little grin like his stupid brother with that same stupid face and stupid hair and oh, god, Riku, _why_.

But Axel was Good. Because Riku was Paying. And so he waits until he has his back to them, (because everyone knows that if you can't see them, they can't hear you) before he starts mumbling about evil midget bastards.

* * *

><p>It is, as often happens, something of an adventure traveling the ten feet from Riku to the bar and then back to Riku. These are absolutely Axel's favorite kinds of adventures, though, so he's rather giddily delighted about it.<p>

See, it's always a bit of a struggle getting back to the bar, where the thickest mass of people and the most gnarly tangle of sweaty limbs require careful maneuvering through. The bar itself, of course, is a horse of a different color, a no-holds-barred contest of Who Can Eye-Fuck the Bartender the Hardest (Axel is a pro at this; both Reno and Tifa want his hot ass), But still, sometimes it's hard for them to shake off the dogs before getting back to Axel and his needs, which sometimes, like say, tonight, means that Axel gets roped into doing things like $2 jager shots with the Theta girls.

And of course, once he has his drinks in hand, courtesy of a wink and shimmy from Tifa, he has to take a little detour via the bathroom, cause Sora's fucking tequila shit smells like death and destruction and that one time on Homecoming when Riku dared him to chug from a bottle of El Toro. Axel's nothing if not a champ though, so a quick boot and rally and fuck yeah back in the game.

On his way stumbling back out of the bathroom, cradling the two beers and the liquid death as he worms his way through the bar, he gets tossed another shot and helps a group from his creative writing class finish a pitcher of bud light, and these more than make up for the ground he lost in the bathroom.

But it's after that, twisting himself through a group of football players while simultaneously trying to drink his beer without spilling Riku's (who gives a shit about Sora's poison), that Axel sees him.

He's sitting on a stool against the wall opposite the bar, much further down than Sora and Riku, talking to that kid with the brillo-pad hairdo. Axel is so mesmerized by the sight of him, honey and gold and glossy and hazy, too bright and too shiny in that perfect drunk daze he's got going right now.

God he's fucking beautiful. Easily the most gorgeous creature he's ever laid eyes on at this school, arguably in his entire life. He's definitely drunk, drink in his hands and unsteady on his perch on that stool, and there's something so fucking _sexy_ about it that Axel almost loses his hold on his own drinks. Almost, of course, being the operative word, because, hello, alcohol? But still. _Fuck_.

"Riku," Axel gasps, shoving his way the last few feet towards the pair still canoodling. Psht. Canoodling. That can't be a real word. Canoolding. Against the wall. With each other, but totally not _together_, because Riku is a pussy little bitch and Sora is demon spawn.

"Holy shit, could it have taken you any longer?" Riku pouts, making grabby hands at the glasses until the redhead all but drops one Blue Moon and Tequila Death into waiting fingers. Sora takes his with a victorious smirk, but Axel Ignores Him because Axel has so many more. important. things.

"Blah blah blah anyway," Axel flicks his now free hand dismissively, pausing for a long draw from the sweating glass of beer. "I have cottoned on. Caught on? Cottoned on. Do you think the phrase cottoned on came from drunk people trying to say caught on?"

"I hate you and your stupid major," Riku grumbles. "Get a real job."

"No, no, no," Axel insists. "No, I know what's going on, and you will be nice."

"I will?"

"Yes." Another gulp, and it's still not jager, but maybe Reno has a point about the orange, cause that shit's kinda tasty. Almost as tasty as the blond on the barstool Axel can still see way far back over Riku's shoulder. "Yes, because this is my party."

"What are we celebrating? Did you win Douchebag of the Year?" Sora snorts. If Riku had said it Axel might have laughed. Maybe. Sora gets nothing more than a withering, albeit cross-eyed, glare.

"I rinsed my mouth out with that after I puked," Axel tells him instead, nodding at Sora's drink. "Don't worry, I didn't swallow. You don't mind recycled tequila, yes?"

It takes every ounce of coherency left in him, but it's worth it, oh shit is it fucking worth it to see the look on Sora's face. Even Riku looks like he's trying not to laugh, caught in that stupidly awesome trap between having a hysterical asshole for a best friend and an overly sensitive little bitch for a crush.

"ANYWAY, Reeks," and maybe it's the heady success, or maybe it's the victory chug he just took, but holy shit is he suddenly fucking _drunk _or what. "This is totally a surprise party for me, isn't it?"

"Uh…no?" Riku's totally giving him that guilty look, totally totally totally weeeeee surprise party. "No, dude, definitely not."

"Don't worry, I won't tell everyone I know," Axel promises. "I'll act surprised. But really, I'm not _stupid_, I totally know everyone here."

"It's the last day of the semester, Ax, everyone with a halfway decent ID is here ya fucktard," Riku insists, and it's really precious the way he's still trying to keep it a surprise. Axel's touched, he really is. He should do something nice for Riku.

"Irre…irr…irree…whatever. It's 'just the last night of the semester,'" he finger quotes with proper aplomb, winking at the still-slightly-green Sora. "Still, if for some reason you feel the need to get me a present or something…it's okay that it's last minute….I want that one."

He's shameless about the way he points, and so Riku and Sora have no problem following his outstretched arm to the boy on the barstool.

Riku, apparently, doesn't like the orange slice in his Blue Moon half as much as Axel does, considering the way he just spit out an entire mouthful of the shit. Axel frowns at him, distracted by the blatant waste of perfectly good booze, until he realizes that Riku sounds like he's choking. Sora doesn't look too worried though, if the way he's still gaping at Axel is any indication, so maybe…oh. Maybe Riku's just laughing.

"Holy – Ax," he finally chokes out. Axel just looks at him, calmly sipping the beer he requisitioned from Riku's inattentive grip, not remotely understanding what is so fucking funny. "You know who that is, right?"

"Other than the hottest guy in the bar?" Axel questions. Sora's still gaping at him, and he really doesn't get what the big fucking deal is right now; he's a horny rat bastard and sex personified is sitting down at the end of the wall.

"Axel, that's Roxas."

"Uh…yeah?"

Well fucking DUH.

"Your roommate."

"I do recall my roommate having a similar name, yes."

As if there was another _Roxas _at this school?

"Who you, and I quote you directly from less than an hour ago, 'hate with the burning passion Dante usually reserves for heretics,' which I still don't fucking get, you pretentious asshat, except that you very, very openly have a passionate hatred for Roxas Strife."

Well. Okay. Maybe there's that.

"Roxas, for the record, would have gotten that," Axel grumbles. Riku's eyes nearly bug out of his head, but Axel ignores his idiot of a best friend. It's true; Roxas is an English major too, he would have appreciated the Divine Comedy reference.

Roxas is also brilliant, witty, charming, and so completely out of his league that Axel's not sure they're even playing the same game. God he hates him so much it hurts, the beautiful fucking bastard.

"You know what," Axel jabs his bony fingertip into Riku's shoulder hard enough to bruise, and he hopes it hurt, rude best friend. "It's the end of the semester, and I have suffered through four months of sex on a motherfucking popsicle stick that I'm not allowed to lick. _I _think I'm entitled to take a shot in the dark on this one." He tops off the end of Riku's beer with a flourish, smacking his lips in satisfaction as he hands the still-smirking freak his empty cup.

"Cheers," Sora, bloody fucking _Sora_, says, toasting his still-full tequila high in the air. Axel frowns at him, the blessed brother of the damned, and feels a little, just for a second, guilty.

"You're not going to stop him?" Riku asks incredulously, wheeling around to stare at Sora too.

"Nope." Sora lets the 'p' pop extra hard, smirking up at Riku in a way that kind of makes Axel want to vom again. "Are you kidding? This is going to be the best show you've seen in months."

Riku's still got that strangely torn, kind of constipated look on his face, and really, Axel ought to do something. He owes Riku something nice, he did say, for throwing this awesome party for him, and he does feel a little bit bad about lying to Sora about his perfectly good glass of Death Drink (like he'd fucking rinse his mouth out with that shit – he'd use straight cologne before he went near that crap).

"Wish me luck, then." He pushes himself off the wall with only minimal wobbling, turning back last second to look at smirky-face Sora and fish-out-of-water Riku. "Oh yeah, Sora, by the way, Riku's been waxing poetically about you since the second day of classes. For the love of fuck, take him home tonight."

* * *

><p>By some miracle of all fucking miracles, Axel sidles up to Roxas without once falling flat on his ass. By another level of miracles, he's strolling up just as Brillo Kid, something with an H that involved beating people up, is saying something that is meant to sound like "I'm leaving," and Axel hears instead as "I'm off to fuck my secret boyfriend."<p>

Huh.

He waits until other blondie fumbles off, Roxas momentarily distracted by what looks like a rum and coke clutched between both hands, and slides smoothly (drops clumsily and with great fuss) onto the newly vacated barstool.

Roxas looks up. And stares. And stares some more. And Axel stares right back at him, mostly because he doesn't really know what to say, now that's he over here, but also because Roxas is just too fucking _pretty _not to look at, given the chance.

"Rum," Roxas says slowly, glancing down at his drink and then back up at Axel, "is not supposed to make you hallucinate. Is it?"

"I think that's absinthe," Axel agrees. He has no idea, really, except that there's some shit they drink in that movie he doesn't like to admit he loves, and it's green and Ozzy Osborne screams like a fairy and they hallucinate like shit, or maybe that's just the movie.

Roxas nods like he knows that Axel only speaks the truth, though, before moving on to scrutinize his rocks glass at eye level. Axel watches him for a few long moments, mostly because he can, before clearing his throat awkwardly.

The blond starts, staring at him like he'd forgotten Axel was there. Axel laughs uneasily, and he swears it's not just the alcohol making him dizzy, not when Roxas has those comically wide, hazy eyes trained unblinkingly on him, and especially not when Roxas lurches forward slightly and reaches one hand up to touch the tattooed skin under Axel's left eye.

"You are not a hallucination."

"No," Axel agrees. Roxas' fingers are still on his cheek and he's trying very, very hard not to breathe his jagermeister breath in the blond's face.

"Then what are you?"

"Very, very drunk. Very very." The redhead laughs. Roxas is still looking at him like there's a signal misfire between his eyes and his brain.

"No no, that's me," Roxas disagrees, shaking his head emphatically. "It must be, because there's no way Axel fucking Flynn would be over here talking to me in a real, sober world."

"Why?" It's not really a fair question; Axel knows the answer. He's been nothing but an ass to his roommate since day one, literally day one, when Roxas got entirely too defensive about his sexuality. By the time the redhead had figured out that it was because Roxaswas afraid of Axel judging _him_, and not because Roxas was judging _Axel_, they were already well and truly established in a pattern of talking shit, intentionally driving each other up the wall, and avoiding being in the same room as often as humanly possible.

"Because Axel Flynn hates me with a burning passion Dante usually reserves for heretics," Roxas hiccups, finally dropping his hand and leaning back against the wall. He looks a little cross about it, really, and if Axel were sober enough to see straight he might wonder about that.

"You heard me say that?" he says instead, mirroring the blond taking a long gulp of his drink.

"No?" Roxas nearly finishes his drink in one go, only pausing long enough to answer Axel's guilty question before tossing the rest back. "Fiery suns are just overrated."

Oh for the love of fuck, this kid was _edible_. Fucking delicious, Axel just wanted to eat him up and keep him forever, and goddammit it had been such a long fucking semester of doing his level best to get under Roxas' skin in any way he possibly could.

"We can go back to flaming coffins in hell and flaming fiery suns and just being flaming in general in the morning," Axel offers, draining his beer too before depositing both of their glasses on the ledge next to Roxas' elbow. "But until then, I think we should do a shot."

Roxas still looks confused, like he wasn't quite sure what was happening and what was real versus what was drunk, but he doesn't have much say in the matter as Axel yanks him forward off the barstool. Axel, for his part, hasn't got a single fucking clue what he's doing or why or how, all he knows is he can feel the alcohol buzzing through his veins like liquid courage and finals start tomorrow and then he won't see Roxas for six whole weeks and he _can't_. He just can't.

They somehow worm their way to the hard, polished wood of the bar proper, the mass of bodies around them compressing all the air between them until Roxas is practically melded into Axel's body. They're tacky with sweat and they both reek of booze and beer and they're supposed to _hate _each other but instead Axel's got an arm around Roxas, holding him steady against the ebb and flow of drunk partiers and Roxas, against all odds, is leaning into it.

Reno catches sight of Axel trying to flag him down and openly stares at the pair pressed against the bar, looking back and forth between the vacant drunk confusion in Roxas' eyes and the stupid determination in Axel's, and reaches for something under the bar before Axel can get his order in.

They watch, not bothering to talk over the chaos assaulting them on all sides, as Reno starts pulling bottles from the shelf behind him. Kahlua and vodka get tossed together in a shaker before the smirking redhead pours out two shots, shoving the pair of glasses towards Axel.

"What are –"

The can of whipped cream hits the counter with an echoing ring even the din of a packed bar, cutting off Roxas' question before the blond can finish stumbling over the words. Reno's wearing the most shit-eating grin Axel's ever seen, and oh god, this couldn't be good.

"Blow job shots," the bartender tells them, "I learned how to make them last week at a friend's, they're very…inspiring. Shot first, chase it with the whipped cream. Have a good night, boys."

Roxas gapes after him as the redhead busies himself with someone at the other end of the bar. Axel clears his throat, and where the fuck was all that liquid courage at now?

"He's ah…he's a bit much, isn't he?" he finally says half-heartedly.

Roxas looks at him. Really looks at him, takes a few seconds to focus his drunk eyes firmly on Axel's face. It's dizzying, sitting here under Roxas' scrutiny like this, watching those impossibly blue eyes scour every inch of his face, and Axel's pretty sure he's only staying upright because it would be impossible to fall over in this crowd.

"Here," Roxas finally says, handing Axel one of the shots before taking one for himself. The whipped cream sits dauntingly on the counter between them, like a big flashing sign of What the Fuck Are You Doing and What the Fuck Are You Going to Do About It? If Roxas notices the flashing neon he doesn't react, reaching for the can and coating the rim of his shot glass with fluffy white goodness. He does the same for Axel before the redhead can react and drops the can back down on the counter, absentmindedly licking a spot of cream off his hand.

He makes the mistake, or maybe the very calculated and wise life decision, of glancing back up at Axel with the tip of his finger still between his lips. The redhead is fairly certain he's lost any remaining coherency at the sight of Roxas' tongue curling around his finger, and he's also fairly certain that Roxas has just caught him gaping open mouthed, maybe even drooling slightly, at the image.

The blond doesn't take his eyes off Axel as he raises the shot glass in his hands, reaching up to tap it against the one Axel himself had forgotten he was holding. There's nothing sexy about it, nothing remotely sensual about Roxas toasting their shots together, and it's the single hottest thing Axel has seen to date.

"To surviving the semester without driving each other completely crazy," Roxas suggests, raising an eyebrow slightly. Axel smirks, still not entirely sure how to get his mouth back in proper working order, and tosses the shot back.

There's a smudge of whipped cream along the ridge of Roxas' chin, just too far down to be considered lip but still arguably mouth. Axel finds himself entirely fixated on it, unable to tear his eyes away even as he reaches his own hand up to scrape the sticky excess from the corner of his lips. Roxas follows the movement carefully, and Axel doesn't understand how someone who is too drunk to stand upright on his own can look at him with such sharp eyes right now. What the fuck happened to that hazy alcohol glaze he could blame this on?

"You've got…" he trails off helplessly, gesturing vaguely at Roxas' chin. His roommate slides his tongue low over his bottom lip, swiping ineffectively at the spot of whipped cream.

Axel can't stop it, even if he wanted to. His hand is moving entirely of its own accord, palm against Roxas' jaw, thumb smoothing over his chin and gathering the stray cream. Roxas doesn't move, doesn't even blink, as Axel raises his hand to his own mouth and sucks the whipped cream from his finger.

"I lied, you know," Roxas breathes, and Axel has no idea how he can possibly hear a word the blond is saying, but they're so close and he's focusing every iota of his remaining consciousness on Roxas' mouth, and he doesn't miss a single syllable. "You drive me crazy in every way possible."

Axel doesn't wait to process the thought. He doesn't bother, he's way too drunk to read too much into it; all he knows is Roxas is right fucking here, inches away, and not hating him, and not trying to leave, and they're both drunk enough that blackout chances are high and maybe they won't even remember this tomorrow, maybe they'll do like Roxas said and return to fiery hatred as soon as the sun's up, but for now he's been _aching _for this.

Roxas tastes like whipped cream and vodka, and under that rum and Kahlua, and Axel's pretty sure they're both sloppy as fuck, but the hand around his neck is pulling him closer, not pushing him away, and Roxas' tongue is in his mouth and his sticky fingers are tangling in blond hair and it's a little too wet and a little too sweet and a little too much teeth and holy fuck he's losing his mind in the best fucking way possible.

"Shit," Roxas gasps, and he doesn't quite pull away, just twists his mouth far enough to the side that he can still talk while Axel tastes the remnants of whipped cream on the corner of Roxas' lips. "We should…"

"Room?"

"Room," Roxas agrees.

It's even harder to pull away from each other than it is to extricate themselves from the massive hoard around the bar, but college students have a certain radar for potential hook ups, and Axel blesses every single one of those drunk assholes as they part like the Red Sea. Roxas leads with a single-minded determination, one hand reaching behind him to grasp at Axel's belt loops, tugging the redhead along in a weaving, zigzagging pattern until they stumble out the front door and into the open night air.

* * *

><p>The fact that they make it back to their room without actually touching is nothing short of a bloody fucking miracle, but there's something about the delicious shiver of anticipation, of being close enough to the knowledge that he <em>could<em>, if he wanted to, reach out and touch, and that makes it okay. More than okay, really, what with the way Axel's nerves are practically sizzling by the time he's fumbling through his pocket for his keys.

Roxas is looking at him like he can't decide between being nervous and being nonchalant, and there're a few long, completely silent seconds after he closes the door behind them that they do nothing more than stand there and stare at each other, Roxas standing in the no man's land between their beds, Axel leaning back with one hand still against the door.

One of them moves. Logically it's probably Roxas, taking two steps forward to close the distance between them, but Axel's so ready for it, slips so seamlessly into the momentum of Roxas grabbing his jacket and spinning them together that he barely even flinches when the blond slams his own back against the hard wood door and yanks Axel hard against him.

It's completely real, and the only way Axel knows this for certain is that there's no _possible _way his imagination came up with this, no way he imagined Roxas fisting both hands in the lapels of his motorcycle jacket and twisting the fabric until the redhead couldn't pull away even if he wanted to, the crackle and creek of leather against sweaty skin lost under the clatter of teeth against teeth. They're sloppy and messy and wasted as fuck, and maybe there's a little part of them that's using this as just another battlefield, biting and sucking and not quite caring how bruising this may be.

"Oh fuck," Roxas gasps, the first to talk, the first to make a sound, as Axel abandons his mouth to slide down the pale column of Roxas' taut neck. A landscape of ropey muscles and throaty ridges guide the movement of Axel's tongue, the curves he licks and the ridges he bites. Roxas' shaky breaths, the rough vibrations of his vocal chords, make the skin shiver under Axel's lips even as he sucks another bruise into the underside of the blond's jaw.

"Jesus fuck, Axel."

"You have no idea," Axel hisses, dragging the words along the length of Roxas' collarbone. "No idea how fucking long I've wanted to do this."

"You hate me," Roxas moans. He's got a hand fisted in Axel's red hair, the other attempting to shove the jacket from the redhead's shoulders.

"Damn right I do," Axel agrees, pulling his arms away from Roxas' waist long enough to let the jacket fall to the floor beneath their feet before reaching for the hem of the blond's sweatshirt. "Fucking gorgeous bastard. Hottest, smartest, sexiest asshole on this entire fucking campus, and the only one who hates me with a burning fervor."

"Wrong." Roxas' hoody lands somewhere closer to Axel's side of the room, closely followed by both his and Axel's shirts. Greedy hands wasted no time, palms dragging roughly over bare sides, fingers running along the ridges of ribs. "Fervently hated that I couldn't get you to notice me."

"Oh I _noticed_," Axel growls. "Hard not to, you pain in the ass."

Roxas laughs, _laughs_, shifting his hip and nudging Axel's hand a little lower down on his torso. "You liked it."

"I liked this." Axel takes his cues from Roxas' body, and he's entirely too far gone to worry about things like reading the signs wrong. He slides his hand the rest of the way down, palming the round curve of Roxas' ass and pulling the blond in closer, grinding their hips together.

"Oh I know," Roxas groans. He shifts his hips against Axel's, hitching one thigh slightly over his roommates', and that's all the prompting Axel needs.

He's _dreamed _of doing this, countless times, stared at Roxas slamming the door and imagined pinning the blond against it, hoisting him up until his roommate has no choice but to wrap his legs around Axel's hips. Maybe Roxas has dreamed of it too, maybe thought about, it, even just once, because Axel barely has to press his second hand into Roxas' thigh before his roommate has both thighs around Axel's torso, shoulders pressed back against the door behind them.

"Brat," Axel hisses, thrusting them forward until there's nowhere left to go, not a single breath of air between Roxas' body and his own, between their melded forms and the door.

"Asshole."

The kisses are shamelessly desperate, openly wanton and needy, frantic gasps of air interspersed between the tangle and slide of tongues and teeth, swollen lips, sloppy and wet and still tinted with the hint of whipped cream and vodka.

He's losing control, and fast, not that he ever had it in the first place, but his thighs are starting to shake with the strain of holding both their drunk asses upright. He doesn't say a word, can't tear his mouth from his roommate's chest as he hikes the blond even higher up against the door, but Roxas shoves forward slightly anyway, enough that Axel staggers back a step with the blond still in his arms.

"Bed," he gasps, jerking his chin towards the closer, and the lower, of the two beds. Axel doesn't so much as drags his lips across Roxas' skin, redirecting the force of his stumble across the floor towards Roxas' bed.

They hit the mattress with a crash, Roxas landing on a pile of discarded t-shirts and tangled sheets. He uses one hand to shove blindly at the fabric, forcing it to the foot of the bed even as he scrambles up. Axel follows with his lips, entirely unwilling to separate completely from the blond.

It was seamless, the way they melt back into it without missing a beat, like they'd been practicing the art of smooth transitions for years. Roxas pulls Axel into another searing kiss before the redhead is even completely on the bed, still gathering his knees under him as he presses forward between Roxas' thighs.

His roommate hooks one leg over Axel's hip, holding him closer, tighter, as Roxas thrusts his hips upward. Axel moans into Roxas' open mouth, lips not quite sealed together, suddenly painfully, hideously aware of how many layers are still separating them.

"Pants," Axel gasps, worming a hand between them and pinning Roxas' hips to the mattress. "Off."

Roxas doesn't argue, focuses his attention on the stretch of skin where collarbone blends into shoulder as Axel works his second hand between them, fumbling with buckles and zippers, tugging at denim and cotton until Roxas lifted his hips off the mattress and used his own hands to shove at Axel's jeans, twisting and shifting, giggling into the sweaty skin on Roxas' ribs as Axel nearly face-planted into his roommate's chest.

There's another moment, just for a second, when they're both naked and gasping soundlessly at each other, not kissing but sharing the same air, a tangle of threaded fingers and desperate grasps, when Axel opens his eyes just in time to catch Roxas' stare. He's fading in and out by now, losing the futile struggle of consciousness versus alcohol and satiation, but he's desperate to make this last as long as he can, to exist forever in this quiet haze of liquor and late nights.

Roxas is staring at him, wide eyed and radiating blue, and Axel can feel each exhalation against his bruised lips, each thrust against his burning flesh. Roxas stares and Axel's breath catches in his throat and Roxas presses his free hand to the sharp curve of Axel's jaw and holds their foreheads together and the world explodes into brilliant shadows and blinding light.

* * *

><p><strong>I think I'm entitled to your body<br>Got a little problem with personal space  
>and I've been<br>pounding the Jager**

**My breath and behavior  
>Have been driving the patrons away<strong>

* * *

><p>Oh holy mother of christing fuck. Ohhh jesus god in fucking hell. Oh sweet, sweet mercy. Oh for the love of –<p>

"Mmmnoshuddup."

Axel cracks one eye open in as much of a panic as he can possibly manage, all things considered. He _knew _something was off, something other than the hippopotamus stampeding on his skull and the way Tropical Storm Jager seemed to be brewing in his gut. Something like the posters on the wall being too far away, the mattress underneath him being way too fucking comfortable to be his own, the sun burning holes in the wrong side of the bed.

And, well, either he turned into an octopus and grew some extra limbs last night, or there's totally another person tangled up in the aforementioned mystery bed with him.

Thus, the panicky crack of a single eyelid, squinting into the harsh harsh harsh early morning sunlight, jesus fuck why couldn't Roxas ever close the fucking…

Oh.

Axel opens his second eye and, yup, that's not sunlight, that's hair. Honey-gold and blinding all the same, but decidedly spiky and surprisingly soft against his jaw, and most definitely not sunlight. And that definitely wasn't warm, comforting tendrils of sunlight wrapped around his (very, very bare, and very sore, what the fuck?) torso.

Oh crap.

"Seriously, Axe, you can have a raging hissy fit, claim blackout, and go back to hating me in like two hours, but for the love of fuck can we please just sleep just a little more first? I'm actually fairly certain I'm still drunk at the moment, and I just want to sleep. Or die."

Axel's pretty sure his head is mostly spinning because he's too hungover to function, but there's also a decidedly clear part of him that is scrambling on high alert to understand what Roxas just said. He can't get much further than the "go back to hating me," part.

"I don't hate you," he insists quietly, and for all his past remonstration to the contrary, it's the god-given truth. He's all ready to defend himself, to talk Roxas' ear off until his roommate is ready to believe it, until the blond lifts his head off Axel's chest and gives the redhead the kind of death glare Axel didn't think was possible with bloodshot eyes, sex hair, and a massive hickey on his neck.

"Don't –"

Axel never finds out what he's not supposed to do. Moving that fast is a Big Mistake and he will Regret It Later, but it's suddenly of the utmost importance that he kiss Roxas before his roommate says something that could potentially take kissing entirely off the table.

Roxas resists for all of about three seconds before he slumps forward, sinking heavily back down into the warm cocoon of blankets and the lazy tangle of tongues. It's nothing like it was last night, none of the drunk urgency, the fumbled desperation. This is slow and sweet and, eventually, when Roxas can't hold his head up anymore and Axel's starting to lose dexterity in his tongue, fades effortlessly into what could only be called _cuddling_.

"You taste like stale beer and death," Roxas grumbles, but the voice rolling off Axel's chest is entirely devoid of the vitriol he'd grown used to over the last four months.

Axel smirks without opening his eyes, flopping one hand up to lazily swat at Roxas' head. He doesn't move his hand away when he's done, threading aching fingers (seriously, even his fucking _fingers _were hungover) through soft blond spikes. Roxas makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like contended purring.

"Better than tasting like I drank sour milk," Axel shoots back, smacking his lips exaggeratedly. He can feel Roxas' cheek against his ribs, feels the way the blond's lips quirk up in a smile even as he huffs out fake annoyance.

He could get used to this.

"I might…"

Roxas groans before Axel can get much else out, jabbing the redhead hard in the side. "What did I tell you about shutting up?"

Axel harrumphs loudly, the only warning he's willing to give before flipping both of them over and pinning a suddenly wide-eyed Roxas to the bed beneath him.  
>This is an Even Stupider Mistake than the last one and his head is throbbing throbbing throbbing and Tropical Storm Jager is kicking up a notch on the Saffir-Simpson HurricaneScale, but Roxas is warm and real (and naked) and so obviously struggling to keep a grin off his face as he glares half-heartedly. His body's going to regret it, for sure, but Axel doesn't give a flying fuck.<p>

"I was _going_," he says crossly, pressing his forehead into the pillow next to Roxas had and leaning in close to the blond's ear, "to negotiate for more than just two hours, but now I don't think you deserve any more sleep."

"So what, this is your idea of punishment?" Axel can tell it's supposed to come out derisive and unaffected, but his hand is moving determinedly up Roxas' pale thigh and he can feel both a shaky exhalation of breath and the edges of a Roxas' grin against his neck.

"Nah." Axel's laugh is more breath than sound, more tactile than audible as he brushes his lips over the edge of Roxas' jaw. "Just figured it's been like six whole hours since the last time I annoyed the fuck out of you."

His fingers close around Roxas at the same that his roommate arches up and seals their lips together, and even though Roxas tastes like sour milk and bad whipped cream and Axel (admittedly) tastes like stale beer and death, and even though he's kind of lazy and kind of too weak to put too much effort into it, and even though Roxas is kind of laughing but also kind of moaning, this is the best goddamn way he's ever woken up.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

* * *

><p><strong>Kids, if you take one thing away from this story…never, <em>ever<em> chug from a bottle of El Toro tequila. EVER.**


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